


Gems of the Sea

by Hayato (TheLennyBunny)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Complete, Gen, HOO BOY THATS THE ONLY TAG YALL GETTIN, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16887984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLennyBunny/pseuds/Hayato
Summary: They appear in graves and on the waves and buried in the sand, and no one can say where they came from.





	Gems of the Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wraven (nataeiy1)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nataeiy1/gifts).



> shdkjdfs i promise im updating a chaptered one soon i just have,,, a lot of wips right now,,,  
> LIKEE E FOUR RN

She buries her in the sand of their old home, ruins of buildings and debris of their history around them. There’s no words spoken as the dirt covers her, obscuring fins and empty sockets, no tears lost as a monster in human and not-so skin is covered. A prayer is said, a final marker placed, and she goes to attend to her son, still sick, ailing as his mother had.

Within the next few days, a shoot appears, coloured in the shades of the sea’s deepest parts. 

* * *

The sea grows to cover the earth, takes land and people alike and humans adapt, passing by the not-so-human that appear as though seeing a missing neighbour. Strange appearances and mystical powers aren’t so mystical anymore so much as uncommon. They survive, and they assimilate.

Traditions adapt to match, and it means some things are less heard of, uncommon,  _ discouraged _ . It’s not good to invite strangers to your home because they may be pirates or they may be one of the sort that need an invitation to take all of You. It’s not wise to go out to the sea at night, because you may just hear singing and never see a coast again. It’s not smart to leave a body on its lonesome, or it may just turn to something else. A whole village is destroyed when a kindly grandmother is turned into a wraith, and a city is in chaos when a plague house comes back as risen berserkers.

A woman loses her son and a wife loses her family in two nights, and the bodies are buried behind their home. They stay for years, sprouts and fruits planted around them until suddenly, one day, a tree begins to shoot up. As the widow watches, it stands tall and bears a single, strange fruit. 

She takes it, washes it and sits it on her table for a long while before deciding she has nothing else in this world, and she wants at least some part of what she lost. She bites into it, keeps eating through the sourness of it, and goes abed grieving a reopened wound. 

She wakes to her own arms curled around her, one pair resting round her waist as another does her chest and another her shoulders.

* * *

They toss the body to sea, wanting no one to know of the crime, the monstrosity committed. The crew pretends it to be a mystery, captain gone and nowhere to be found between an evening and a morning. The first-mate says nothing as they disappear themself, taking the lifeboat and what little treasure the crew hasn’t hoarded. Any food not hidden under their seat is burnt to ash, and they await the sound of screams on the winds as they turn back.

The spot is nondescript except for a single rock peeking out of the water. They still recognise it on sight, anchoring their boat and breathing, closing their eyes as their sins grip them down and choke at their throat. A simple mistake, overlooking the greed of the crew. Not protecting her. A small, singular oversight. And look where they were now.

They dive into the sea, kicking kicking kicking until they touch the bottom. It’s not too deep, a small shelf. They float back up, take a big gust of air, and go back down, patting the ocean floor. A process repeated hour after hour, sand scoured and crevices searched as they keep at it. It’s when they can’t see their own hand in front of their face that they find something, the curve and indent of molars.

It's difficult trying to grip the skull, even though it's only been a week, and they struggle through three more gulps of air before they finally yank it out of the slodge. Back up to the surface they go, gasping and panting. They glance down at it finally, their sin.

It's chipped from the final blow, jagged cut going through part an eye socket. But the strange thing, unsettling, is the weight to it and the shadow to eyes, dim purple looking back. There's something inside.

They leave it alone as they go for the rest. Pile each bone picked clean onto the boat, whispering apologies and prayers to the sea all the while. They don't sleep the two days it takes.

The nearest island is a day away and they go in silence, a funeral procession of one. The skull rests heavy in their lap.

The pyre is small, piled with gold and silver and the silks she'd so treasured. They place the skull on top and light it as the sun dips fire into the water. It's a beacon throughout the night, and they breathe the smoke even as their lungs protest. At some point, they fall asleep on the sand, tears and mind exhausted.

They wake to a purple melon in the center of the ash and molten metal, swirls and ridges decorating its surface. They run a hand over it mystified, trying to figure out just it appeared, but then they remember purple shadows, a confusing weight.

They wonder for a long, confused moment if their captain had had fruit for a brain. Then they hear thunder in the distance and realise they have more to worry about.

They lose the boat in the storm and almost their life. There's barely any foliage on the island, nothing to cover with or hold onto. Barely enough to light a pyre. They've got only the clothes on their back, a few knives, and the melon when it's done and over with.

There's not many options left to them. They utter another plea for forgiveness and begin to carve into the rind.

Half a day later they sigh, exhausted and tired and shivering from the chill setting in, and their skin bursts out in fire. 

* * *

They bury him in the center of town, where all can leave momentos. Mayor, general, he lead them against invaders and guided newcomers to new homes and made a place for all in his family. He was and is beloved, and they refuse to forget him.

His widower and grandchildren are the ones to pack the dirt, saying their words before ljghting the fires for the feast. It's a loud occasion, basking in memories and the future and what they're left with. 

Two, three months later, as water begins to sprout from the grave, they worry about leaks, the sea creeping in on their island. But truly the water is fresh, invigorating, and the body is undisturbed as it builds from a puddle to a lake. So they leave it. For years they leave it, leaving their momentos as widowers pass and grandchildren grow and leave, stay and raise their own kith.

One day, children play in the lake, and touch to the bottom. Nothing happens. A storm comes and makes it overflow, the bottom and edges churning. Nothing happens. One of the town blacksmiths is forced to drop one of his creations inside and it bubbles, but nothing goes awry.

One day, the current mayor decides to try and deepen the lake and tries to find the bones as he dives, hoping to rebury them after it's finished. He finds them truly, kept packed in the dirt, and in the center of the ribcage there lies a jade green sphere, ridged with waves. It's a strange thing and he brings it home with him, rolling it this way and that and feeling its surface. The thin stick makes it look almost a fruit, and he taps on it in jest, chuckling.

It sounds off like a ripe melon. He thumps it again, not chuckling now. He takes it over to one of the elders, who thumps it as well and licks it even, puzzled.

They grab a knife and stab it in eventually, digging it in until there's a loud crack and the thing splits in two.

It certainly looks like a melon on the inside. They both stare at it in absolute confusion, before the elder harrumphs and sits back.

It must have been meant for the mayor to find, he decides, which means he gets the spoils. The mayor looks at the fruit hesitantly because he doesn't trust lake corpse food, but he takes it in the end. One trusts their elders, and one trusts the water. It's where they all went in the end.

He eats it piece by piece, gagging at the taste. When he's finished he throws the rinds to the compost and goes back to his work, deciding to put it past him. It's difficult swimming in the water but he still makes headway, and he's exhausted as he goes home.

When he wakes his alarm is shrilling at him and he groans, hitting it with his hand till it stops. 

Then his eyes shoot open, staring at the arm stretched across his large cottage.

* * *

There’s strangeness in the world now covered in water, things that can’t be explained and things no one  _ wants  _ to remember, spirits and sea taking away all but their bodies. There’s things gifted and cursed with and the lines blur in the end, a sort of distinction none can make, least of all those that finally bite in.

Truly, the only truth to be found is that no one is protected on the open sea, and all must be wary. For the powers that be are not fickle, and they may give in the same breath that they take away. 

And that gift is not so often a willing one.

**Author's Note:**

> here while it lasts>> thelennystorm.tumblr.com


End file.
